


Prince's Place

by dippkip



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Just to be safe, M/M, bruce is super intimidating when he's conflicted and clark doesn't know what to do with that, clark is a hot piece of man and bruce doen't know what to do with that, only rated teen for old-timey references to sex, part of the 2018 Superbat Reverse Bang, they're both a mess as usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-07 03:02:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14661960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dippkip/pseuds/dippkip
Summary: Gotham’s most exclusive venue in the 19th century is Prince’s Place, a gentleman’s club that caters to only the wealthiest clientele. Clark Kent has only been a courtesan here for a few months, but he’s always been a quick study, so his list of regular clients is nothing to sneeze at.Now if only he could figure out why this one guy kept staring at him without requesting anything.





	Prince's Place

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [[ART] Prince's Place](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14662113) by [Cheese_kun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheese_kun/pseuds/Cheese_kun). 



> Here I am, back at it again with the Superbat bangs. As always, this was a blast, and by pure coincidence, I was working with [Kingy](http://grandaddykink.tumblr.com/) once again. I about died laughing when I saw we were partnered again, but we did so well last time that I couldn't be anything but excited. Their art that inspired this work can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14662113), so go check it out!

Tucked into a dark corner of Gotham, behind a nondescript oak door, accessible only by producing a specific signet ring, there is a club that caters to a very exclusive clientele. If you can pay the exorbitant membership fees or prove you are of a certain caliber of nobility, you are one of a select few who can enjoy the pleasures of Prince’s Place, an establishment nearly as old as the city itself.

Courtesans wait on the visiting gentlemen, providing them with company, conversation, music, and alcohol. For interested parties with the additional funding and good enough standing at Prince’s Place, courtesans can also be booked for private sessions, where rules about keeping your hands to yourself are less stringent.

Potential courtesans undergo a rigorous hiring process, with extensive training and trials before they’re allowed to serve guests. Not four months ago, Clark Kent was one of these select few, and felt fairly confident about his duties by now. He had passed every exam with flying colors, and these last few months of real experience had honed his skills to a fine edge. He had several regular clients and never left a single one dissatisfied.

Which seemed to beg the obvious question of what the _hell_ this guy’s problem was.

Clark had seen him seated in the same armchair for at least two months now. When Clark first started out, the stranger’s attendance was a little more sporadic, but he seemed to have settled into a routine, since Clark saw him _every single time_ he worked a shift. The stranger looked like a regular – he was always impeccably dressed, and ordered the same top-shelf wine and cigar without batting an eyelash.

Clark peeked out from behind the curtain that separated the courtesans’ personal parlor from the club proper and spotted the man immediately. Tonight, it was a sleek black tuxedo and polished oxfords. He was perched in his usual spot, wineglass cradled in one hand and cigar dangling from the other. His dark hair was slicked back, accentuating where he’s graying at the temples. His face was as impassive as ever, a neutral slate of chiseled cheekbones and pursed lips, with bored cobalt eyes fixed on a seemingly random spot on the floor.  Clark tried to not grind his teeth together as he let the curtain fall again and turned back to his coworkers, who were all in various stages of preparedness for beginning their shift.

Hal, already dressed in a deep green corset with a matching sheer wrap around his hips, was helping Barry into his own red ensemble. He caught Clark’s eye and gave him a teasing grin.

“Is Mr. Intense here already?” he asked, ducking behind Barry when Clark glared at him.

“Give him a break Hal,” Barry grunted as Hal tightened the laces of his corset. “It’s always nerve wracking to have a creepy admirer.”

“It’s not like I’m _worried_ about him,” Clark frowned thoughtfully, toying with the sheer fabric of his own pink ensemble. “I just don’t understand what he’s playing at.”

“What’s not to get?” Arthur asked, brushing his long, dark mane with fragrant oils. “He’s here for all of your shifts and stares at you nearly the entire time – he wants to make baskets with you. Blow the grounsils. Join giblets.”

“ _I know what you mean Arthur, you can stop,_ ” Clark hissed, flushing lightly. “That can’t be it though. He _never_ requests for me to serve him, and he hasn’t booked a single private session.”

“Really? Still?” Hal asked, eyebrows shooting up into his hairline.

Clark pursed his lips and nodded. He settled on a lounge and idly watched as Hal tied off Barry’s corset before turning to apply his makeup. “I just…wish I knew what he wanted.”

“And we all know what you _want_ him to want,” Barry grinned.

Clark nearly bit his tongue. Flushing bright red, he retorted “I expect _nothing_ from him, thank you very much!”

“Aww, it’s okay Clark, we think he’s hot too. You don’t have to be ashamed of wanting him to dote on you a bit more,” Hal assured him, cackling when Clark threw a throw pillow at him.

“That’s not the point!” he insisted. “I just…feel like I must be lacking something if he’s so reluctant to do anything.”

“You don’t have anything to prove, kid. Either he’s into you and he’ll man up eventually, or he can shove his cigar with that stick in his ass,” Arthur huffed, scowling at his reflection as he wrangled his hair into submission.

Clark had known Arthur long enough to realize that was as close to a compliment as he’d ever get from the man. He smiled to himself and opened his mouth to reply, but snapped it shut when their manager came in, slipping in through the curtain skillfully enough to barely disturb the fabric. Her dark blue dress whispered against the floor and the faded leather cover of her pocketbook creaked as she gripped it tighter.

“Everybody has to be out on the floor in five – does anybody need assistance?” Diana asked brusquely.

“Could you powder my nose, Ms. Prince? I’m afraid my delicate constitution has exerted itself for the night,” Hal drawled, dramatically sprawling himself across his chair. He yelped when Diana rapped his ear with her book, though the reprimand was softened by her indulgent smile.

“Tonight isn’t terribly busy, so you should be able to pick and choose customers at your leisure,” she told them, opening the book and fanning through it. “All of them are regulars, so everybody knows the rules. I’m not expecting any trouble tonight.”

“Thank _Christ_ ,” Barry groaned. “Last weekend was a _nightmare_.”

Diana grimaced. “We’ll be taking special measures to ensure we never have a repeat of that.”

Soft notes from the piano in the main room began filling the parlor, causing all of the occupants to involuntarily straighten out.

“Time to shine,” Arthur sighed, tossing his hair over his shoulder and strutting across the room, sweeping the curtain aside with a flourish. The others shared a look before following him out, putting a sway in their step as they crossed the threshold.

The main parlor of Prince’s Place was designed to be intimate – the plush carpeting was navy blue, and all the wood flooring and furniture were a dark mahogany. The upholstery was a worn maroon, and the ornate shades over the table lamps dampened most of the light, giving the room a very sultry atmosphere. The grand piano in the corner of the room continued crooning a quiet tune, drawn forth by the skilled hands of their resident pianist, Victor Stone. The air was filled with smoke as several gentlemen reclined in their chairs and shared cigars and stories in hushed tones.

Most of the conversation died down as the courtesans entered the room and spread out. Arthur went straight to the bar to pick up a decanter of whisky, making his usual circuit from booth to booth to serve the guests. Hal and Barry split up and leaned on occupied tables, striking up conversations with the gentlemen seated there. Clark made eye contact with Victor, who smiled and seamlessly transitioned from one song to the next while Clark pulled a chair up in the center of the room, facing most of the customers. He lounged in it with a practiced ease and slowly scanned the room, accidentally making eye contact with his frustrating stranger.

He fought to keep his face neutral under the pressure of the other’s intense gaze, but he refused to be the first to look away. For a split second, he thought he saw the man’s eyes soften in something like awe, but Clark blinked and it was gone. The stranger closed his eyes and took a long sip from his wineglass, freeing Clark from his spell in time for the courtesan to realize he was about to miss his cue.

Victor played a few more notes, then Clark began singing along, letting his baritone carry softly across the room; some guests ceased their conversations to listen, while others spoke more quietly so as not to disturb them. For the most part, Clark kept his eyes hooded and trained on a spot on the floor, but on the few occasions he dared to look up and sweep the room, his stranger was invariably staring with his usual intensity. By now, the man had finished his cigar and was absently gesturing for more wine. He took his last remaining sip and ran his tongue over his stained lips. He didn’t seem to be aware of what he was doing, but Clark flushed anyways, eyes darting to a different corner of the parlor.

Clark remained where he was for two more songs before quietly thanking Victor and moving towards the booths, gliding from table to table and talking with some of the regulars he was familiar with. He caught up on Mr. Queen’s latest attempts to woo Miss Lance (which grew increasingly ludicrous every time Clark saw him), listened with half an ear as Mr. Luthor drunkenly grumbled about competing business, and fought back roaring laughter as Mr. O’Brian regaled him with his latest bumbling escapades aboard his trading vessels.

By this time, Clark had nearly made it all the way around the room, casually avoiding a certain corner for as long as he could. He risked a quick glance over and noticed his stranger had once again finished his  drink, so he took a fortifying breath and strolled to the bar, asking the bartender for a bottle of the man’s usual port. He marshalled all the confidence he didn’t feel into sauntering over to the man’s seat, nearly biting his tongue when those intense eyes jumped to his face.

Clark smiled in what he hoped was an inviting way before asking, “Would the gentleman care for another glass?”

The stranger blinked slowly but wordlessly held out his empty wineglass, cupping the bottom of it in his palm and allowing the stem to pass between his fingers. Clark carefully _did not_ bite his lip as he reached out to steady the glass, consequently cradling the man’s hand the way he held the glass. Clark noted the surprisingly rough skin and battered knuckles as he poured, and let himself drag his fingers along the back of the man’s hand as he finished and pulled away. He swore he heard the man’s breath catch, but a quick glimpse of his face betrayed no emotion.

Clark nearly jumped when the man’s lips parted and a rough “Thank you” escaped. He had planned on turning tail and cutting his losses, but hearing the guy finally _talk_ gave his courage much-needed reinforcement. He set the wine bottle on a nearby table and sat in an adjacent chair, crossing his legs and resting an elbow atop his knee so he could rest his chin on his hand.

“I notice you’ve been a faithful regular, sir. How long have you been familiar with Prince’s Place?” Clark asked while he still had the nerve.

The stranger pursed his lips, seemingly debating on whether to answer or not, before reluctantly admitting “Diana is a…close friend of mine. When she took over management here, she suggested I come give it a chance. I did.”

Clark suppressed a shiver as the man spoke and instead lifted his eyebrows. “Then you’ve been coming here for quite some time! Ms. Prince has been the proprietor here for several years.”

The stranger hummed noncommittally and took another sip of wine. Clark waited for him to swallow before pressing on. “I haven’t been here long myself, so I’m afraid I don’t have the pleasure of knowing your name, Mister…?”

The stranger hesitated again, but eventually met Clark’s eyes and offered “Wayne.”

The name sounded familiar, but Clark filed it away for later and flashed a dazzling smile. “It’s a pleasure to formally make your acquaintance, Mr. Wayne. You can call me Clara,” Clark said, easily offering the alias he used when on the clock.

Wayne grumbled something too quiet for Clark to hear, then took another mouthful of his drink and set the glass down on the small table at his elbow. He clasped his hands and crossed his legs, resting an elbow on the arm of his chair and leaning in closer to Clark.

“The pleasure is mine, Clara, I assure you,” he murmured, gaze falling to trail along Clark’s body before meeting his eyes again. “Might I ask why you’ve chosen to work here, despite having such a taskmaster for a manager?” he asked lightly, lips quirking into a small smirk.

Clark flushed lightly at the attention, but he cleared his throat and straightened his back. “I’ve always enjoyed meeting new people and learning about different walks of life. I like working somewhere where I can be frank about my…preferences without fear. Prince’s Place provides both. I get to talk to strangers and friends all evening – what’s not to like?”

Wayne’s face softened slightly. “Then I commend you for having that bravery I lack.”

Clark blinked. “Bravery, sir?”

“To easily converse with others. It is one of my greatest shortcomings, I’m afraid.”

“You seem to be doing a perfectly good job right now,” Clark observed.

Wayne’s lips quirked again. “I think that has more to do with the company than any innate ability on my part.”

Clark inhaled sharply.

“For instance,” Wayne said, casually looking away to pick up his wine, “if I had even a fraction of your skill and courage, I’m sure I would have requested your services months ago instead of sitting here every night, desperately hoping you would come to me first.”

He hadn’t looked back at Clark, opting to swallow a large mouthful of wine, and in the wake of his admission, Clark realized Wayne was actually _nervous_. His free hand gripped the arm of his chair tightly enough to make the wood creak, and his breathing had picked up significantly. When he set his glass down again, he still didn’t turn to look Clark in the eyes, instead glancing out at the room so Clark could only see him in profile. His face seemed bland as ever, but his eyes were brimming with anxious energy.

Clark felt an invisible weight lift from his shoulders. All this time he spent intimidated by this gentleman, and it turned out the gentleman was just as intimidated by him. He couldn’t help but huff a laugh of relief, carefully reaching out to place a hand over the one still gripping the chair. Wayne’s head snapped to Clark’s face, eyes wide with surprise.

“I’m afraid I must disagree with you, Mr. Wayne,” he said, stroking the gentleman’s knuckles until his grip relaxed. “It takes an enormous amount of courage to even come here – to admit to yourself who you are, who you love – and it takes even more to come out of your shell when your natural inclination is to remain within.”

He smiled at the cautious hope softening Wayne’s face.

“I…” Wayne hesitated again, but Clark nodded encouragingly and he slowly continued, “If that’s how your sentiments bend, then I hope it isn’t too bold of me to say that ever since I first saw you here, I thought you the most radiant creature I’d ever seen?”

Clark nearly choked on his tongue. So much for being shy, he supposed; the floodgates have been opened. He fought down a rising blush and delicately replied, “Not too bold at all sir. I’m flattered you thought so.”

Wayne ducked his head a bit and mumbled something that distinctly sounded like “ _still_ think so” as he reached for his wine again and downed the rest of it.

In his last four months working at Prince’s Place, Clark had been complimented left and right by men who were both far raunchier and far more eloquent than Mr. Wayne. However, in all that time, he wasn’t sure he’d ever been complimented with such _sincerity_. Most of the gentlemen came in after slipping their wedding rings into their pockets – Clark was here to play a part in their escapist fantasy. Any affection they offered him was just part of the act. It was probably ridiculous to imagine it was any different this time, but something about the change in Mr. Wayne’s bearing over the course of this conversation, coupled with his admittedly handsome features and flattering attentions, made Clark want to _hope_.

He gently squeezed Mr. Wayne’s hand to call his attention back, waiting until their eyes met before he spoke. “If it isn’t too bold of _me_ , I should very much like it if you would request me occasionally, Mr. Wayne. It would be most pleasing to learn more about you.”

“Bruce.”

Clark blinked. “Pardon?”

Wayne looked like he was regretting his muted outburst, but he persevered and repeated himself. “Bruce. My name. If we are to be better acquainted, I would appreciate dropping this ‘sir’ and ‘Mr. Wayne’ fluff.”

Clark felt a slow smile stretch across his face. “Bruce, then. If you would return the favor and call me Clark, I’d be obliged.”

His smile grew as he watched Bruce silently mouth the name before quietly repeating, “Clark. It would be my greatest pleasure to oblige you however I can.” He flipped his hand that remained in Clark’s grip and lifted the courtesan’s knuckles to his lips, holding his gaze as the kiss lingered. Clark felt something flutter in his gut, but he didn’t dare look away.

The two remained in this moment, seemingly apart from the world, until a courier quietly approached and held out a slip of paper, muttering “Telegraph for you, Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce frowned and reluctantly released Clark’s hand, unfolding the paper with a creased brow. His frown deepened and he released a bone-deep sigh as he read the contents. He gave the courier a tip and waved him off, pocketing the telegram and turning back to Clark with an apologetic expression.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to oblige you another time. My ward apparently decided to go sledding down the stairs on a dinner tray and took a nasty tumble at the bottom.”

Clark blanched. “Oh goodness, is he alright!?”

“Oh, he’s fine,” Bruce assured him, offering the softest smile Clark had seen on him all night. “He grew up with acrobats, so he knows how to make the best out of a rough landing. My butler still thought it best to summon a doctor, and I’d like to be there to hear what he has to say.”

“I understand,” Clark said. “Perhaps you could tell me more about him next time?”

“Be careful making such offers – I’ve been told I am unbearably obnoxious when I start talking about Richard,” he warned, smiling ruefully.

“That only endears me to the prospect,” Clark replied.

Bruce’s smile melted into something more genuine as he rose from his seat, bending at the waist while taking Clark’s hand and pressing another kiss to it. “Then I look forward to regaling you with his numerous accomplishments. I will count the hours until then.”

Clark bit his cheek to stifle a blush. “I am beginning to think all your talk of poor social skills was a terrible ruse.”

Bruce released his hand with a wicked smirk. “As I said before, I think that has more to do with my company than any talent of mine.”

Clark shook his head, but smiled regardless. “Good night, Bruce,” he murmured.

“Good night Clark,” Bruce replied, offering him one last soft smile and a bow before turning on his heel and calling for his coat.

Clark sighed and slumped a bit in his chair, gaze lingering on Bruce’s broad back until he finally stepped out into the chill night air. He knew he should really get back to the other guests, but for once, he was reluctant to go engage in conversation. Bruce may be counting the hours, but Clark knew he would be feeling every minute until they met again.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, come see me on [Tumblr](http://dippkip.tumblr.com/), and keep tabs on this story if you enjoyed it - I'm thinking of adding another chapter or two when I've got more free time!


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